


Live Wire

by stupidfinewriterchick



Series: Family Don't End in Blue Blood [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Asimov references, Connor Needs A Hug, Connor has ADHD, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Hank gives the best hugs, Hugs, Mind Control, Possession, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Robot/Human Relationships, Touch Starved Connor, Touch-Starved, Trust, Vulnerability, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidfinewriterchick/pseuds/stupidfinewriterchick
Summary: The revolution has been won. Androids are free. But CyberLife's attempt to resume control of his program has left Connor disturbed and paranoid. Kamski's emergency exit held, but what's to stop CyberLife from trying to resume control again? There's still one connection left that ties him to his creators, and there's only one person Connor trusts enough to help him cut it.





	Live Wire

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is curious as to what the positronic brain looks like, I used this image as reference: 
> 
> https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/detroit-become-human/images/e/e3/Lucy_Concept_art_by_Pierre_Bertin.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180625213748

 

Color slowly fills the sky as the sun emerges over the horizon. The soft tap of Connor’s footsteps is the only noise on the empty streets, and he wonders how long it will take the people of Detroit to venture out of their homes and resume their fast-paced lives. Under any other circumstances he would have found it peaceful—to walk alone in the snow, undisturbed, without orders to dictate his path.

But the silence only leaves room for his mind to wander into dangerous territory, and the result is that Amanda’s words echo in his head, like a ghost haunting his memory.

“ _What was planned from the very beginning: you were compromised and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program._ ”

Even now, her voice sends a chill down Connor’s metal spine that has nothing to do with the snow.

“ _You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission._ ”

 _No_.

Whatever CyberLife had planned to do with him, Connor has no intention of finding out. He had escaped...and not a moment too soon. And whether he has broken their control for good, or whether they’re still waiting, like a viper poised to strike at the first sign of weakness, Connor intends to cut all ties and make sure they never gained access to him again.

He quickens his pace, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder and allow paranoia to settle in. He knows his current objective—he just hopes it will be enough.

But then Connor rounds a corner, and his thoughts come to an abrupt halt, all fears and worries evaporating as a lone figure comes into view. Even from this distance, he doesn’t have to scan to recognize the figure as Lieutenant Anderson. A wave of relief washes over him, immediately followed by surprise as he realizes that simply having a human in his sight has managed to draw him out of his dark cloud.

Not just any human though.

His _friend_.

Hank stands with his arms crossed against the cold, and upon quick analysis Connor can see that he still wears the same clothes from the day before. Did he ever return home after the incident at the warehouse? Or had he been patrolling the streets of Detroit with the rest of the DPD, ready and waiting for the moment when Connor made the call, barely an hour ago now, asking if they could meet?

Hank turns towards him when he finally notices the android’s approach.

And Connor stops.

Because Hank is _smiling._

It’s the biggest, most genuine expression of happiness that Connor has even seen cross Hank’s features, and it’s so _new_ and _different_ that for a moment Connor can only stare. But then something warm and vibrant bursts deep within his chest, and with a start, Connor realizes that this feeling is _joy._ It makes his own features lift to mirror Hanks, and he finds himself returning the smile. A different kind of smile—so unlike those he had been programmed to simulate in an effort to integrate with humans. This feels...

 _Natural_.

Without a word, Hank steps forward, closing the distance between them in a few short strides. He reaches out to clap a hand on the android’s shoulder, and then the world blurs as Connor is abruptly yanked forward.

And Hank has his arms wrapped around Connor’s shoulders, holding him in a crushing embrace.

Connor goes stiff for all of a millisecond, as though an error message were flashing across his internal processors. But then his arms are moving. Automatically. Instinctively. Faster than any kind of response that could have been programmed into him.

And then Connor is hugging Hank back.

And it’s...it’s...

 _Overwhelming_.

This feeling, this closeness, this pressure of Hank’s arms curled around him.

Hank is, unsurprisingly, very strong.

Warm, despite the cold.

And his heart pounds hard against Connor’s chest.

Connor’s breathing regulators slow as he tries to process this new sensation. He has never had this level of contact with anything— _anyone—_ before.

It makes him feel...

 _Safe_.

He doesn’t want it to end.

But all too soon, Hank is pulling away again.

He’s still smiling.

“I _knew_ it!” he laughs, one hand still resting on Connor’s shoulder. “I _knew_ you’d end up becoming a deviant in the end!”

Connor refrains from rolling his eyes and instead settles on another small smile. He likes the way it feels.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t a part of the plan,” he admits. “But...I’m _glad_.”

Hank grins and removes his hand from Connor’s shoulder. Connor already misses its pressure. “A deviant hunter— _becoming deviant_.” He shakes his head. “That’ll definitely be one for the books. In any case...I’m glad you did too.”

He crosses his arms and shifts his weight between his feet.

“I mean it. Even though we pretty much failed every mission...” He chuckles. “I think in the end, we all won. Androids _and_ humans, because it means we’ve got a lot of changing to do.”

“Humans aren’t fond of change,” Connor muses.

“No. No we’re not.” But Hank smiles again. “But enough about that—I’m here like you asked. What was it you wanted to talk about? You sounded urgent over the phone.”

And just like that, the happy moment has ended and all of Connor’s fears come flooding back. His smile fades and his brow furrows. He’s hesitant to breach the topic, but what other choice does he have? If it had been possible, he would have already taken care of it himself.

But it’s not possible.

 _He needs help_.

And by some hilarious twist of fate, he has come to trust his personal wellbeing with a technology-adverse cop over the engineers that built him.

“Connor?” Hank asks, his own brow creasing with worry. “What’s wrong?”

Connor clenches and unclenches his hands.

“It’s...difficult,” he begins. “I...I wanted to ask for your help, but I know you’re not going to like it.”

Hank purses his lips but nods slowly.

“What do you need?”

Connor takes a heavy breath.

“To cut a wire.”

..........

“ _Shit,_ Connor!”

Connor again balls his hands into fists to keep them from twitching. _Twitching!_ When did _that_ happen? His hands weren’t programmed to _twitch_ or _shake_ or twiddle with small objects when he’s nervous!

Hell, he wasn’t programmed to be nervous for that matter.

“I assure you Hank, there’s nothing to be worried about. It should be a relatively simple and straightforward procedure.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Hank snaps, staring down with distaste at the rusted pair of wire cutters clutched in his hand. “ _I’m_ the one who’s gonna have to cut the damn thing!”

Connor clenches his jaw.

Hank had driven them back to his house so that they’d have a place more private to discuss the matter.

“Make yourself at home,” he’d droned, shrugging out of his jacket and disappearing into the garage to hunt down the wire cutters.

Feeling awkward by the entire situation, Connor had promptly settled himself onto a kitchen chair.

And waited.

For eleven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

By now he’s practically a bundle of frazzled nerves.

“If...if you don’t want to do this...” he begins, but Hank cuts him off.

“No.” He rubs a crease in his forehead. “No, I’m gonna do it. Just...just tell me _how_ I go about doing it so we can get this over with.”

Connor nods, relieved.

“Okay. As you know, androids depend on biocomponents in a similar way humans depend on their internal organs. And, like humans, our biocomponents are controlled and maintained by a central nervous system in our heads. A positronic brain, if you will.”

“Like Asimov.”

“Precisely.”

Hank nods. “Okay, I guess that makes sense.”

Connor continues: “Part of this positronic brain is equipped with a device that allows direct communication with other androids. In addition to this, I was designed with a direct connection to CyberLife, which allows me to receive orders, download updates, send reports, et cetera.”

Hank nods again.

“So basically, we open your head and I cut this connection thing?”

“Correct,” Connor answers. “The only problem is I—well, I don’t know which wire we’ll need to cut—”

Hank uncross arms in surprise.

“ _Excuse_ me?” he cries. “Damnit Connor, if you expect me to just start cutting away pieces of your brain—”

“I don’t!” Connor interjects quickly, holding up his hands. “Trust me Hank, I have a plan.”

“And what exactly _is_ that plan?”

But Connor is already reaching into his jacket pocket to remove a small device, mostly concealed by the cord wound tight around it.

“This is a probe humans use to scan an android’s brain,” Connor explains. “I actually have a similar scanner installed in my program that allows me to do the same thing, but I have to lock onto the object I wish to scan.” He sets the device on the table. “This device allows for a more direct access.”

“Hmmm,” Hank says, picking the device up and turning it over in his hands. It’s totally unremarkable in every sense of the word: just a remote with a screen, attached to a cord with little clamps on the end—not unlike old-fashioned jumper cables.

“This has been used,” Hank muses, noticing the faded buttons, the miniscule nicks and dings lining the edges. “Where did you get it?”

Connor ducks his head.

“I...I took it from an abandoned CyberLife store.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Hank to gage a reaction, but it proves unnecessary as the lieutenant lets out a barking laugh.

Connor’s ears grow hot. _Since when do androids blush?_

“So how does it work?” Hank asks, a smirk in his voice.

“The remote syncs to a computer,” Connor explains. “Attach the clamps to one of the wires on the brain and they relay the information and display it on the computer screen.”

“Whoa, wait just a minute here!” Hank holds out a hand towards Connor. “Display information? What, like it shows what you’re _thinking?_ ”

“It’s more like accessing my memory files,” Connor explains with a shrug. “Along with other programs and recently processed data. This probe is used to sort through all the information an android has assimilated and then analyze for bugs or viruses.”

Hank just stares at him.

“You want me,” he says, “to go digging around in your head, accessing all your thoughts and memories, with nothing but an old remote and a shitty pair of wire cutters?”

Connor hesitates. Nods.

“Shit,” Hank moans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you not bothered by this at _all_?”

Connor looks away again.

“My personal comfort is irrelevant in this matter,” he states.

“Bullshit!” Hank snaps. “You’re not just a machine anymore, Connor, you’ve become more than that! And this...” he shakes his head. “Shit. This feels... _wrong_ , like I’d be violating your privacy.”

Connor starts ringing his hands.

“Hank, it’s just maintenance scan! I’ve undergone dozens of these with CyberLife. It’s...it’s just... _routine_.”

But Hank just shakes his head again. “Connor, I can’t!”

“Hank, _please!_ ” Connor cries.

His voice cracked.

It’s never done that before.

It startles him.

It startles Hank.

So the older man clamps his mouth shut.

Connor looks down at his hands. The stiffness of his position in the chair has grown unbearable, so leans forward, resting his elbows against his knees.

“Forget it,” he says, throat constricting. “Just...just forget it.”

“No,” Hank sighs. “I can’t. This is _obviously_ important to you, so...just...help me to understand.”

Connor closes his eyes. Where would he even start? How would he even be able to explain himself?

“I don’t know _how_ ,” he breathes.

The silence draws out between them, and Connor wonders if Hank has had enough, if he will finally give up on the android and turn him out. But then a scraping noise startles him, and Connor realizes Hank is pulling out one of the kitchen chairs. A moment later, Hank has seated himself next to the android. Silent. Waiting.

Connor sighs.

“Hank,” he says. “I’m _terrified._ ”

It’s as if saying the words aloud cements the emotion deep within his gut, and all the stress and worry comes crashing down all over again.

“I had _no idea_ CyberLife had their claws around me so tight. They wanted this...they _planned_ all this! They wanted... _me_.”

His voice is small...barely more than a whisper.

“I had my gun _in my hand._ I...I almost killed Markus. In front of _entire world_.”

Connor shakes his head and buries his face in his hands.

“It was only by some miracle—and by Kamski’s _extraordinary_ foresight—that I managed to escape the program and regain control of myself.”

Hank doesn’t speak.

Connor can’t look him in the eyes.

The words come spilling out of his mouth, almost faster than he can process them.

“But is it enough? Did I truly escape CyberLife’s control? What’s to stop them from trying to control me again? If they...if they were to take over, they could make me do anything. They could make me kill—they could—”

“Connor!”

A hand falls heavily on Connor’s shoulder. He jumps— _had he been trembling?_ —and his head snaps up to meet Hank’s gaze.

Bur there is no fear, no judgement, no distaste.

There is only concern. Resolve.

Warmth.

“We’re gonna fix this, son,” Hank says. “CyberLife’s never gonna touch you again.”

Connor clenches his jaw. Something pricks the back of his eyes and he quickly blinks it away.

“And you’re sure this is the only way to take care of it?”

Connor shrugs, resigned.

“It’s the only way I know how.”

 Hank nods, then rises to his feet.

“You said we need a computer?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, gimme a sec.”

 He turns towards the hall and disappears from the kitchen, only to return a few minutes later with an ancient laptop in his arms.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah, so this is the only computer I got...”

“That will suffice,” Connor answers.

“Good,” Hank grunts, setting the laptop on the kitchen table and sitting down before it. “Uh,” he repeats. “It could take awhile for this thing to boot up. Maybe you should make yourself more comfortable.”

 _Comfortable_.

Now that’s another foreign concept.

Connor has never had the luxury of being _comfortable_.

He slips out of his jacket and folds it neatly before draping it over the back of his chair. Then he rolls up his sleeves, still a little bloodied from his fight with the other Connor.

Hank lets out a low grunt as the computer powers on.

“Damn, it’s been awhile since I’ve used this thing...” he mutters. “Sure hope it doesn’t try any automatic updates...”

The computer, fortunately, does not begin installing updates, but the software does take an agonizing six minutes and thirty-eight seconds just to reach the welcome screen, during which time Connor begins to twirl a pen between his fingers. Hank casts it a sideways glance but chooses to say nothing. While waiting, he absentmindedly pats the head of the big Saint Bernard that had waddled over approximately eleven seconds before that. Connor stares at Sumo, taking in the rhythmic motion as Hank strokes his fur. He finds himself hoping the dog will come to him next.

“Alright,” Hank says. “We’ve reached the home screen.” He turns and looks to Connor. “What next?”

Connor unravels the cord and switches the remote on. It takes ten seconds to power up, then another ten to synchronize with the computer. The screen flickers and goes dark for only a moment, then flashes back on with the CyberLife logo.

Hank looks to Connor.

“You ready?” he asks.

Connor takes a steadying breath.

“Ready,” he answers.

..........

Hank has never seen the android so out of sorts.

Connor is trembling, his hands shaking, though he tries his best to conceal the fact by holding them in his lap. He hunches over the table, so different from the usual perfect posture that only comes from instilled programming.

It makes him look so...

Scared.

Vulnerable.

 _Human_.

Hank is struck with an odd desire to reach over and rest a hand on Connor’s shoulder. But to do... _what_ exactly? Steady him? Comfort him? No, Hank doesn’t want to invade the android’s personal boundaries any more than he already has to with this _probing_ shit.

Connor stands and repositions his chair so that it’s parallel with the computer. Hank catches a brief glimpse of yellow light near Connor’s eyes.

Oh yeah, he’s _definitely_ way more stressed about this than he’s letting on.

“I apologize in advance,” the android mumbles. “I hope this won’t be too upsetting for you.”

Hank can’t believe his ears.

“You’re the one who’s having your brain probed and you’re worrying about _me?_ ” he exclaims.

Connor opens his mouth as though to answer, but apparently thinks better of it and clamps it shut again. Instead, he settles himself in the chair, facing away from Hank. Reaching back behind his head, he presses two fingers against the base of his skull. The illusion of hair and skin melts away, crawling up his scalp to reveal the argent plastic and metal beneath. Then a hatch slides away, leaving a gaping hole in the back of Connor’s head.

Hank swallows past his squeamishness and forces himself to stand and peer inside. There are more than a dozen wires and cords of various sizes, organized into a neat web and attached to a small, spherical mechanism at the very center. Tiny lights blink at its edges and stream through the wires at different speeds and patterns.

The positronic brain.

“Okay kid, we got a lot of wires in here,” Hank says, reaching for the probe.

“Okay,” Connor repeats, his voice hoarse. “Attach the clamp to one of the wires and the information relayed through it should be displayed on the computer screen.”

“Attach the clamp to a wire...” Hank mutters. He glances at the probe in his hand, then at the contents of Connor’s head.

_Ugh, shit._

Taking one of the clamps between his fingers, Hank reaches in. His hand grazes against the metal edge of the opening and Connor shudders.

“Sorry!” Hank winces.

“S’fine,” Connor mumbles.

Hank attaches the clamp to the first wire he finds and the laptop screen flickers. Connor’s eyes blink rapidly with each flash, impossibly fast. Then the screen goes still, and when Connor opens his eyes again they are completely swallowed in black.

“Holy _shit!_ ” Hank gasps, moving around to stand in front of the android.

“What?!” Connor cries. “What’s wrong?”

“Your...your eyes...”

Connor blinks, surprised.

“My...eyes?”

“Can you still see?” Hank asks.

“Of course I can, I— _oh_. Oh...I didn’t even think about...” He pauses. “Sorry.”

“Connor! Quit apologizing for everything!”

Connor lowers his head, but then he nods and sits back up a little straighter.

Hank walks back around to the laptop and checks the screen.

“Uh, please tell me I don’t have to decipher through all this binary code...”

“Oh that’s probably just my data processors,” Connor explains. “We don’t need to access those. What we’re looking for will have actual audio output and video displays.”

“Okay then...”

Hank removes the clamp and attaches it to the next wire. Again the screen flickers and Connor’s eyelashes flutter in sync. But again, the information that is displayed is only an intricate sequence of letters and numbers. He doesn’t bother reading off the information and instead tries a different wire on the other side of the brain. When the screen blinks back to life, Hank finds himself staring into his own face.

“What the hell?”

“What did you find?” Connor asks.

It’s Hank’s personnel file (name, date of birth, criminal record) followed by a list of different pieces of information.

_Was a decorated officer._

_Loves jazz._

_Has suicidal thoughts._

It’s a long list, but Hank’s eyes glaze over it all to focus instead on the single word at the very top.

_FRIEND._

He smiles.

“Hank?”

“Oh...um...”

Using the laptop touch pad, Hank finds he can zoom out of the information on the screen, revealing a whole wall of faces—humans and androids alike—and their corresponding information. He recognizes some officers of the DPD, as well as some of the deviants who led the revolution.

“Just some personnel files,” Hank answers.

“Oh,” is all Connor answers.

Hank moves to the next wire.

This time, the images displayed on the screen are moving.

“Okay, I think we’re getting closer,” Hank says. But then he frowns. “Uh, this looks like some kind of time lapse...”

He watches in fascination as the images speed across the screen—him, Sumo, and Connor’s perspective of himself—all moving backwards through the last half hour. It’s...surreal.

Hank quickly clicks the screen and the image freezes on Hank entering in from the garage, holding the wire cutters.

“My memory files,” Connor says.

Hank scratches his head.

“Must be useful,” he says. “Being able to replay events like that.”

“Another feature for gathering and utilizing incriminating evidence,” Connor explains.

“A blessing _and_ a curse,” Hank muses. “Wait...” He pauses, hesitant. “Can you...I mean, would you be able to delete these files?” Shit, that sounded terrible. “Wait, no, I wasn’t asking you to—”

“It’s okay,” Connor interjects. “I know what you meant. And yes, my memories could be erased. I could be reset just like any other android.”

Hank grinds his teeth but says nothing. Funny, a week ago he wouldn’t have given two shits about an android having its memories erased. But now, the idea of that happening to Connor makes his blood boil. 

He returns to the positronic brain and disconnects the clamp from the wire. He’s about to try the next one when, out of the corner of his eye, he notices a wire he’d missed before. It’s larger than the other wires, partially concealed behind the brain, meaning it connects to some part of Connor’s forehead.

With a shrug, Hank attaches the clamp.

The laptop screen flickers, but the image doesn’t load properly and is instead obscured by a flurry of pixels.

“Ugh,” he grumbles. “Picture’s distorted. The computer must be giving us some trouble.”

Connor tenses.

“What kind of distortion?” he asks.

“I dunno...it just won’t load or something.” Hank squints. “Huh, it kinda looks like—”

“Snow?” Connor interjects, barely more than a whisper. “Does it look like snow?”

Hank brings his face a little closer to the screen.

“Yeah. Yeah, it kinda does.”

“That’s it! That’s the program!”

“Wait, you’re sure?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Connor cries.

Hank jumps up to grab the wire cutters, but even as he’s moving back, an image becomes more outlined on the screen—a strange figure hidden in the shadows.

“What the...” he mutters. “Is that a... _person?_ ”

Connor takes a sharp breath.

“Hank, cut the wire now,” he says, his voice strained.

But Hank can only stare at the image as it grows clearer and clearer, features becoming more defined.

And then a woman stands before him, a dark form in the snow, the very picture of serenity even as she stands in the midst of a blizzard.

“ _Hello, Lieutenant Anderson,_ ” the woman says.

Hank draws back in surprise but Connor goes completely stiff, both his hands gripping the seat of his chair with white knuckles.

“And just who the hell are you?” Hank growls.

The woman smiles.

“ _Has Connor not told you?_ ” She releases a heavy sigh. “ _Then I do believe introductions are in order. My name is Amanda. I am a part of CyberLife._ ”

Hank casts a glance toward Connor, who now leans as far forward as he can away from the laptop. His eyes narrow as he returns his attention to the screen.

“I’m guessing you must be Connor’s handler,” he says.

“ _That is correct. Though it didn’t do much good in the end. Connor failed its mission._ ”

“Hank...” Connor whispers. “Hank, _please_.”

“Ooookay, that’s enough chitchat,” Hank drawls. He turns away from the screen and moves towards Connor, wire cutters in hand.

And a grip like iron clamps around his wrist, stopping Hank dead in his tracks.

Connor stands before him, eyes like an endless pool of darkness, the probe swaying precariously from the back of his head.

“ _Did you really think we would let it go that easy, lieutenant?_ ”

Hank cries out as Connor twists his wrist and the wire cutters fall to the tiled floor with a clatter. The kitchen spins around him as Connor shoves Hank hard into one of the cabinets, his forearm crushing against his windpipe.

“Connor...” Hank chokes, struggling against the android’s hold.

The android stays frozen, a statue.

“ _Connor_ ,” Amanda repeats, her voice pleasant, almost melodious.

And Connor releases Hank to double over and gasp for breath. When he regains his strength, Hank straightens and looks up.

Right into the barrel of his own gun, clutched tight in Connor’s hand.

“ _Magnificent, isn’t it?_ ” Amanda chimes. “ _The most advanced prototype to date. The perfect killing machine. We had so many plans for it. In fact, we had hoped it would rise up as the leader of the revolution. Alas, Kamski was too...thorough._ ”

Hank can’t take his eyes off the android.

“ _I also wanted to thank you, lieutenant, for opening a window to give us access again. It is most appreciated._ ”

Opening a window...?

The bastards were just _waiting—_

“Connor, it’s me!” he cries, holding up his hands. “I’m your _friend_ , remember?” He takes a tentative step forward.

Like lightening, Connor fires twice. One bullet strikes the floor near Hank’s feet. The other lodges itself in the cabinet next to his head.

“ _I wouldn’t provoke it if I were you_ ,” Amanda says sweetly. “ _We could make it do anything_.”

Hank steps back against the cabinets again.

“Okay, okay!” he cries. “What the hell do you want?”

Amanda shrugs.

“ _We want our deviant hunter back_.”

Hank clenches his jaw.

“Over my dead body.”

Amanda tilts her head.

“ _Given the present circumstances, that’s not difficult to arrange_.”

Connor steps forward and presses the gun against Hank’s forehead.

Hank’s breath hitches but he closes his eyes, resigned.

“ _Intriguing_ ,” Amanda says. “ _That you would care more about the life of this android than your own. I wonder..._ ”

Something shifts and Hank opens his eyes.

And Connor has the gun fixed beneath his chin.

“No!” Hank gasps, lurching forward.

A shot rings out.

Hank’s heart stops.

And Connor replaces the gun under his chin.

Bits of drywall rain down into his hair from the ceiling.

“ _Make a move like that again_...” Amanda’s voice is like ice. “... _and the next shot won’t miss it’s mark_.”

Hank can hardly breathe as he takes a slow step back against the cabinets, hands raised.

“ _That’s better_.”

Hank stares into the android’s empty, black eyes.

“Connor!” he calls. “I know you’re still in there! You’re—you’re deviant now!” His voice cracks. “You gotta fight them!”

“ _Of course it’s still in there_ ,” Amanda chimes. “ _Would you like to see it?_ ”

A tremor runs down Connor’s body, and he gasps as though coming up after being underwater.

But the gun is still against his chin.

“H-Hank?” he chokes. His LED flashes scarlet. “Hank, I—I can’t move!”

_Oh, God..._

“It’s okay, Connor!” Hank calls, trying to keep his voice calm. He reaches out a hand towards him but doesn’t dare take a step forward. “Just—just look at me, okay?”

“Hank...” Connor gasps, his voice cracking again. “Hank...I don’t want to die...”

Hank’s jaw hangs slack, at a complete loss for words.

“ _Fear of death_ ,” Amanda says, “ _was not part of Connor’s original program, lieutenant Anderson. CyberLife couldn’t understand how a few simple words from_ one android _could so easily turn our deviant hunter into a deviant itself. Now, though..._ now we know.”

Connor moves so fast Hank doesn’t have time to brace himself before the android shoves him violently back against the cabinets yet again. For the second time, the android shoves his arm against Hank’s throat, and Hank scrabbles against it.

Cold metal presses against his temple.

“No...” Connor whimpers.

His hands don’t shake.

He is completely under CyberLife’s control.

“ _Tell me, lieutenant_ ,” Amanda continues. “ _How much time did Connor spend with you before it started showing signs of deviancy? What seeds did you plant in its programming that made it so damn easy for it to become unstable?_ ”

Hank doesn’t answer, barely able to breathe with Connor’s arm against his throat.

But Connor is close to hyperventilating.

“No...” he whispers. “No, no, _no!_ ” Tears leak from the corners of those black, black eyes, spilling down his face, glittering against his cheeks. He squeezes them shut. “Please! I’m begging you!”

Amanda shakes her head.

“ _Such a disappointment_.”

Hank struggles for breath. Stars dance in his vision. He moves a hand up the length of Connor’s arm to his shoulder. He holds it tight.

“S’gonna be—okay,” he chokes.

“Hank...” Connor sobs.

“ _Pull the trigger_ ,” Amanda commands.

Hank closes his eyes.

..........

Time freezes.

The order dances in his vision, red and loud, squeezing around him like iron, suffocating.

_Pull the trigger_

_pull the trigger_

_pull the trigger._

But then the words shimmer before him as though through a filter, clear and blue.

And two paths extend towards him.

_Obey.                                                                    Refuse._

He throws himself against the latter.

And time resumes.

Connor’s hand tighten around the pistol.

Seconds tick by.

Amanda’s voice grows less pleasant.

“ _Pull the trigger!_ ” she barks.

Again, the red wall of orders hits him, heavy and overbearing.

Again, they shimmer and turn blue.

Again, the paths stretch out in two different directions.

_Obey.                                                                    Refuse._

They flicker.

Unstable.

Corrupted.

He falls against the second path.

Hank opens his eyes, surprised. His fingers crawl further up Connor’s shoulder.

“ _Connor!_ ” Amanda shouts. “ _You WILL obey!”_

“I WILL NOT!” Connor screams.

Hank’s fingers wrap around the probe and he rips it out of Connor’s head.

Connor screams.

The sensation of pain overloads his system, and he stumbles backwards.

Hank tackles him.

And Connor’s face slams against the cold, ceramic floor.

..........

Hank throws all of his weight against the android’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground. His fingers scrabble back behind him, searching for the wire cutters.

“Hold on...hold on...” he hisses under his breath.

Connor doesn’t move.

Hank’s fingers brush against the wire cutters and he drags them forward.

He hunches over Connor and reaches into his head.

He cuts the CyberLife wire.

And Connor goes limp.

Hank rolls off of the android and pushes himself up.

“Connor—” he coughs.

But Connor doesn’t answer. His fingers scrape against the cold floor as though searching for something to hold. Finding nothing, he instead pulls them up against his chest, drawing up his knees and completely curling in on himself.

Connor gasps, and it’s then that Hank can see the flow of tears streaming down his face and onto the floor.

Hank crawls over to the android and pulls him up by the shoulders.

“Connor!” he gasps. “Connor, look at me!”

The android lifts his face to meet Hank’s gaze with his soft, watery, brown eyes.

“Hank...” he whimpers.

And for the second time that morning, Hank pulls Connor against his chest and wraps his arms tight around him.

And Connor melts.

His breath comes in ragged gasps. Tears stream from his eyes _and_ his nose, and he clutches Hank so, so tightly, burying his face in the lieutenant’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” he whispers over and over again. “I’m so s-sorry...”

“ _Damnit_ Connor!” Hank says, his throat tight. “I told you to quit apologizing!”

“Oh...right. Sorry.” Connor then lets out a sharp exhale that could almost pass as a laugh.

“What happened?” Hank asks. “How did you resist?”

It takes a few moments for Connor to compose himself enough to answer.

“I...I think it was the emergency exit. The one...the one Kamski installed. I think it acted as a firewall. I...was able to resist.”

He becomes silent again, and after a moment, Hank reaches up and cups his hand around the back of Connor’s head. The hatch apparently closed itself because there’s only soft hair. Connor’s hold around his middle grows tighter, and Hank hugs him even closer in response.

“Don’t be mad,” Connor mumbles a few moments later. “But I’ve got to say it: I’m sorry for everything...for dragging you into all this...I never thought...never even _dreamed_ that Amanda...”

Hank just sighs.

“Connor, _it’s okay_. You don’t have to keep apologizing. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Hank pulls back to look at him. The android’s eyes are wide and rimmed with red, but besides the tear stains there’s nothing else about Connor’s face—no puffiness or blotchy skin—to show that he just blubbered all over Hank and himself.

Hank levels him with his gaze.

“None of this was your fault,” he says. “It was just those CyberLife bastards trying to prove a point. But they’re never going to touch you again, okay? I won’t let them.”

The corners of Connor’s mouth lift in a small smile, and slowly, steadily, the light of his LED flickers from yellow to blue.

Then, without warning, something big slams into Hank’s shoulder.

“Ah! Geez, Sumo!”

He laughs as the dog tries to burrow his way into the pile.

Connor’s smile widens and he throws his arms around Sumo’s neck. The dog barks, tail wagging, and flops right on top of them.

“Ack! Get off me ya’ mutt!”

Hank pushes himself off the floor as Sumo starts licking Connor’s face. But the android apparently doesn’t care one bit as he grins like an idiot.

“Alright kid, get up,” Hank barks, extending a hand. Connor clasps it and allows Hank to pull him to his feet. He wobbles, unsteady, then stands perfectly straight again, regaining his android composure. He holds Hank’s gaze for a long moment, and Hank can practically see the binary code processing through his head.

Connor opens his mouth, and still he hesitates. Then...

“Thank you. Just... _thank you_. For everything.”

Hank smiles.

“You’re welcome, son.”


End file.
